The Blind Sculptor
by WildHorseFantasy
Summary: A young artist is in danger when his sister is kidnapped. Can Peter and Neal find out what the kidnapper wants and get to her in time?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar. This is all fun and no profit. The main purpose is to keep all of us fan(atics) sane between episodes.

* * *

The sculptures caught Neal's eye in spite of the milling, confused crowd. Police barricaded the door and prevented the argumentative patrons from leaving the museum before they could be questioned. Beyond them, the artwork rose behind them, three sculptures but lined up and styled like waves so they looked like they could join. A white horse leaped from the translucent front wave while the wave and tail met the dolphin in the one behind and behind that a cliff with a castle atop it. The colors darkened toward the castle, lightened toward the horse and the backdrop of the exhibit was painted as if the waves fled the storm.

His eyes finally caught a glimpse of a dark skinned teenager standing near Peter Burke. Peter turned to him. "Neal, this is Davis Conroy. He's the sculpture and it's his sister that's missing. Davis, this is my consultant, Neal."

Davis turned toward him. Neal's brows rose as he noticed the boy's eyes didn't track him.

Neal eyed the teen with interest. "You sculpted these? Do you mind me asking, how old are you?"

"Sixteen. And yes, I'm blind.."

"Wow. You broke into art at an impressively early age."

The boy's dark brown face flashed in a happy smile. "That's Amanda's doing..." It dropped away. "She's the painter too."

Neal studied the boy. "So, any idea who would take her? Or why?"

Davis shook his head and frowned. "No way. Everybody loves her. Except her ex boyfriend. But I don't think he took her."

Peter's eyes focused on the boy. "Why not?"

"Guy's a jerk. But he's not stupid." The boy waved his arms. "Too many people."

"Mm. We'll need to get his name and check him out anyway, just in case. He the only one?"

The boy shook his head.

"No rivals? It's not easy getting slotted into a gallery." Neal observed.

The boy slumped on the edge of the rear sculpture's base. A security guard took a few steps toward him but was chased off by the curator. Neal smirked. It was a natural desire to touch the art and the guards were supposed to prevent it. But this kid was the artist. You couldn't stop him from sitting on his own property.

"Not that I know off. It's not like it's a one person exhibit. We were all part of a contest. I've never met anyone that wasn't excited and thrilled to get any spot. Believe me, I'm good at reading voices."

"I can imagine..." Neal said slowly. "How do you get around? Amanda?"

"Amanda and Magic."

"Magic?" Peter was looking at the curator who was heading toward them and sweating fiercely.

"My dog. My guide dog. She's a big black lab. I haven't been able to find her. She was in the office, but since the trouble started..." the boy looked toward the sculpture. The boy's eyes were watering. "Ow. Allergies kicking up..." he muttered.

"I'm sure we'll find your dog too." Neal stated. "Maybe she just wandered into the wrong room and someone locked the door on her."

"Oh I hope so."

Peter gripped the boy's shoulder. "We're going to l...check around now."

"You can say 'look' agent Burke. It's okay." The boy gave a watery smile. "I just hope you see what you need to find my sister and Magic."

Neal paused as Peter walked off. "Davis?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think they're together?"

The boy clenched his fists. His lips tightened and his chin rose. "I don't know. But I know Magic will protect her. She's my lucky lab. So if they're together..."

"She's safe...I get it. Hang in there." Neal patted his arm and leaned close to whisper. "I love your art. Really."

The boy smiled.

The back room was full of wrapped and crated art. The curator pointed at a bare table. "There should be three pieces there. One was not quite finished, Amanda was putting finishing touches on the paint. Plus one large one and one smaller one.

"So we definitely have theft."

"But they saw someone pulling Amanda into a car." Neal observed. "They didn't see any art. Which begs the question: why did they call us before they found out it was a White Collar crime instead of an ordinary kidnapping."

"That's easy," Peter said. "We were available, it's an art museum, and the guys that normally take care of kidnappings are missing half their crew either to that bug going around or that law enforcement symposium."

"Ah." Neal nodded. "Well, premature or not, I guess now we know it's theft."

"You're sure no-one moved them and forget to tell you?"

The balding museum curator looked indignant. "Absolutely not! The only ones working in here today were Amanda and Davis. A sudden loud noise nearly drowned him out.

"What is that?!" Peter yelled.

The curator looked distraught and his fists clenched in fury. He opened his mouth to answer, shrugged and pulled pen and paper out. He scribbled and held it up to Peter.

"Renovations. Next door."

"Been doing that long?" Peter scribbled back.

"Off and on for days."

Neal winced as he read the note. Most people toured art museums much like libraries, in comparative peace, or amiable chatter. Perhaps a fierce argument might ensue over an artist's merits. But chaos that close had to be doing damage to the tour groups and it wasn't so great for all the art either. He could picture it rattling right off the walls and pedestals. He wondered if it caused false alarms in the security system.

Neal turned away from the conversation he couldn't hear and looked around. His eyes lit on dust and a paw print. Kneeling, he peered under the desk. He pulled on latex gloves and he pulled out a chunk of ceramic and shook his head. Broken bits of something were under there. He pulled out a second piece, careful not to cut his latex gloves open. This one had blood on it. He sucked in a breath. He glanced around, sitting back. Peter and the curator were still exchanging notes, the curator finally hurrying off.

Neal's eyes blinked as he noticed another print in the dust, he inched toward it. Reluctant, given he was in a good suit, he followed on his hands and knees. Whenever he tried to shift up and stand he lost track due to the odd lighting and shadows.

The thumping stopped so suddenly the silence itself was deafening. "...at are you doing?"

He realized Peter was talking to him even as he peered around the half open crate lid. Two eyes peered back and made him start. "I think I found the dog." He rose and motioned to the crate. Nudging the lid aside, he found the black lab with a bloody gash on it's head. Now it whimpered.

Peter was by it's side in an instant. "Neal, get Davis."

Neal hurried out and found Davis where he'd left him. "Davis! We found Magic!"

The boy started. "Is she okay?"

"Ah, I don't know. I think so, looks like she got knocked on the head."

Davis reached out an arm. "Lead me to her? Just let me hold your shoulder. It'll be quicker."

"Sure."

They went this way back to the room. The dog whimpered and sat up. The boy went straight to the sound and hugged the dog, gripping the guide harness.

"Wait a minute." Peter said. "We need to get her to a vet and check for evidence."

The boy looked worried. "Can't I go with her?"  
Neal looked at Peter with puppy dog eyes. Peter rolled his. "I'll arrange it. Try not to pat her too much, I know you want to, but if she got any DNA of the bad guy on her, we need it."

"You think she bit him?"

"Got a bit of blood on her chin and her head. The head's hers, it's got a gash. Not sure about the chin."

Jones came in. "Hey, Davis, how about I give you and your friend a ride to the vet."

"Okay. Come on Magic. Let's get you checked out."

Neal watched boy and dog go out the door. "There are bits of broken sculpture on the floor. Recent."

"How do you know the janitor isn't just slacking off?"

"It's got blood on it. And the breaks are too clean. No dirt. Someone broke one of the pieces and tried to sweep it up."

"Point it out to the evidence people." Peter looked around the room. "I wonder if it's human or dog blood. They might've hit the dog with it if it jumped them."

"Peter, you own a lab. They are among the sweetest dogs around. You think she just attacked someone?"

"She may've defended Amanda like Satchmo defended El. And I didn't say attacked anyway. Satchmo jumped some as a puppy before we taught him better. A person up to no good might not know a playful jump from an attack."

"True." Neal pictured the attacker being flattened by a slobbering dog. "So we look for someone whose been slimed?"

Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"So did we find anything?" Neal asked, strolling into the FBI conference room.

"The vet removed bits of ceramic from the dog's wound." Diana announced.

"So the dog did get hit with it." Neal noted.

"Probably. Also, it has a broken tooth and it just happened."

"She chomped in and lost a tooth."

"Ouch. That would leave a mark on someone." Neal blinked.

"Or in someone." Peter's eyes narrowed.

"The sculptures?"

"The curator identified the paint as being the smaller finished piece. There was enough on the floor to guess it broke apart."

"So that's two missing and one destroyed." Neal tilted back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Could Amanda have walked in on the thieves?"

"Could've." Peter noted. "But why take her and not just lock her in or tie her up and gag her?"

"Yeah, kidnapping is extra serious. It only makes sense if...maybe she could identify them? Knew them?"

"Or had information they wanted."

"What does she have that anyone would want? She and Davis are new artists and their a team. They don't work separate."

"And they so far haven't made big bucks. So who would a kidnapper call for a ransom demand?"

"If only the dog could talk." Neal noted.

"Maybe it can if we can get a suspect." Peter observed. "Believe me, that dog will remember who hit it. They may be forgiving but they do know who to avoid."

Peter was on his way out the door when he got the call. "Davis's parents are going to be here within the next two hours." He frowned thoughtfully. "We really should get him to show us around their studio before they take him out of town. They live an hour away and he'll need to get back to school."

"What are we waiting for?"

"I've got to be in court in half an hour, Jones and Diana are going on a stake out and the evidence guys are still processing the museum."

Neal smiled and spread his arms. "I've available."

Peter eyed him doubtfully.

"What do you think I'm going to do? Steal the clay?"

"No, I'm more thinking of the flak I'll catch for leaving you alone with the evidence." He sighed. "But go ahead. Just...be careful."

"Always am." Neal strode out the door to collect the teenage artist.

Peter gaped after him incredulously. "If careful is what your normal behavior is, I'm terrified to imagine your idea of reckless."

Neal just waved back at him.

Neal and Davis strode into the studio, following Magic, the service dog. A couple of super size blocks of plastic wrapped clay stood against the far wall, with some smaller ones on a table under a window. Two easels stood with paper and pencil next to it. To the left, a desk set kitty corner by a window and on it's other side, another large easel with paints was laid out alongside on a table. Neal sucked in a breath of city air mixed with fresh art supplies and smiled. The studio loft had a row of windows, three of which were open and letting in the bright sunlight.

"Great space."

"Thanks. My sister lives there." He pointed to a door on the far left wall. "It's just one room, plus the bathroom. All the kitchen appliances are minis. I sleep over there when I stay." He waved a hand to the right. There was a curtained off area, currently wide open, with a day bed and a trunk.

"That your sister's area?" He pointed to the desk.

"Yeah."

"I guess I'll start over there then."

"Okay. I'm here if you need me." The boy clicked on a radio as Neal headed for the desk and pulled on gloves. Neal sat down and looking at the papers on the desk. Sketches, a few bills...his eyes flicked up. Uplifting music was blasting from the music player. Davis's hands were lifted in the air as if reaching to heaven before the two easels. One hand held a pencil as if he would conduct an orchestra with it. And then he moved. He moved with the music, pencil stroking through the air onto the sketch paper on the easels. Forgetting his mission, Neal rose and moved closer. Shapes were forming. A figure whirled, arms reaching heavenward, one foot lifted. It might've been formed by clouds in motion but it was there. Neal had no idea how time passed as he stared at the creation of the art.

A knock on the door made them both jump. Davis flipped off the music.

"Hello? Davis?" A woman came in, honey tanned skin and curly brown hair featuring a worried smile.

"Mama!" The boy shot into her arms, nearly sending her flying. He towered over her by an inch.

"I thought you weren't supposed to touch anything in here before the police got here."

"Oh! I forgot!" The boy spun in Neal's general direction. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was too busy admiring your work." Neal was bemused. "I'm thinking of all the people I've met who can't draw a stick figure that would be green with envy.

"Now don't go giving him a puffed up head." A red headed man was in the door now, but he had a smile and his tone was amused. The boy wrinkled his nose.

"I'm sure it's fine. It's hard to say no when the muse hits." Neal smiled.

"Are you an artist? I thought you were the FBI." The man looked surprised.

"I'm a consultant. Art is my specialty." And cons. But no need to add that.

"I'm John Conroy and this is Marie." The red head shook Neal's hand. He put his arm around Davis. "Thank you for looking for our daughter."

"Do you have any ideas on who would take her?"

They shook their heads. "Everyone loves Amanda." Marie said softly. Her eyes were bright and she looked away.

"I'm sure we'll find her." Neal said, putting his charms to good use. "Take care, Davis."

"I will. Just find my sister."

Neal returned to the desk, forcing his mind back to the case. The top of the desk, as he'd already observed, had only some sketches and bills. No major over due bills or collection notices screamed in red letters. The sketches were small, and only half finished. He checked the drawers and found them full of pencils, erasers, markers, extra paper and other assorted art supplies. One of them didn't quite close properly. He pulled out the drawer beneath in hopes of seeing if something was blocking it. As he bent over, his eye caught on a box taped under the desk, way back against the solid interior. He reached out, feeling a piece of tape holding it closed and pulled out the object. His eyes widened. "Oh, not good." It was a gun.

It was an old gun, he noted. A collector's piece, but definitely serviceable. On that though realization struck and he pushed, pulled and finally got his hand behind the stuck drawer. He pulled out a box and sighed. Ammunition. She was hiding a gun and ammunition. There was no record of her owning a gun, but then this might be a family heirloom. It was old enough. Carefully he set the gun back where he'd found it, but left the ammo out. Then he turned to her room. It was smaller. Bed over there, laptop on the table, Jones would want to see that...a small kitchenette with mini fridge, microwave and mini stove. Open window that lead to a fire escape and flower pots on the next window over.

He wandered over to the flowers, looking out the window. He dialed Peter.

"Hey, you done yet?"

"Just leaving the court house. Evidence should be pulling up, they just called me. Davis still there?"

"No. His parents picked him up. Guess what I found?"

"Just tell me."

"A gun."

"Oh terrific. Well, I guess that proves she was scared of something. Couldn't be legal. We checked if any were registered to her for that very reason."

"I don't know. Looks like an antique or collectors edition to me, but she did have the bullets for it."

Neal studied the flower pots. He picked up a trowel and poked lightly round the edges. Three of the pots were full of healthy blooming plants. A fourth looked wrong, definitely dying, as if disturbed at a critical moment in it's growth. Neal poked it lightly, nudged and it popped out. He reached in under it and drew out a key.  
"...Neal...Neal..."

"What?" Neal tuned back in to Peter.

"You disappeared. I thought the call dropped."

"No, sorry. I..."

There was a knock on the door.

"Sounds like the evidence guys are here."

"Look through the keyhole just in case." Peter said.

"You're getting as paranoid as Mozzie."

Peter sputtered as Neal hung up, smiling. Mozzie wouldn't appreciate the comparison either.


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out the key was for a safety deposit box in a nearby bank. Peter got a warrant. Neal watched as he opened the box. They exchanged a puzzled look.

"Paperwork." Neal took a few pages while Peter flipped through others. He frowned. "Newspaper clippings about a fire. Dated...years ago, his voice trailed off. He quickly calculated Davis's age.

Peter let out an 'aha'. "Cancelled check for a private detective...and emails." He frowned.

"Davis is adopted."

"They both are."

Neal looked startled. "Really? Amanda's red hair fooled me. They're Dad's is the same color."

"Really. I talked to the parents over the phone. Mrs. Conroy couldn't have kids so they adopted.

Neal continued to peruse the newspaper article as they spoke. "Peter..."

Something in his tone made Peter look up.

"According to this article, there was a kid burned in a fire and permanently blinded. His mother suffered severe burns and died after months in therapy. The father was convicted of setting it."

Peter took the yellowed newspaper. "Davis."

"You think his biological father got out and came after him?"

"We should look into that adoption, make sure it's legal."

Neal looked doubtful. "How could it not be? They couldn't send him back to his father even if he was released."

"No. But he may not have agreed to the adoption, or not accepted it."

"He tried to kill him!" Neal was stunned at the idea that such a man had the right to stall the adoption.

Peter looked startled at the younger man's vehemence. "That's the problem. If he's found him..."

Neal's eyes widened. "He may try again." He paused. "But what's all this got to do with Amanda and the sculptures? Why didn't she go the police or tell her parents? They claimed they didn't know."

Peter held up the cancelled check. "I have a feeling that detective may be able to tell us."

The detective turned out to be a retired cop by the name of Travis. He had a limp from an old injury but a confident demeanor. "She wanted me to look into these threatening emails."

Neal was a bit surprised with how easily he opened up. He asked without thinking about it. "You don't mind telling us?"

The detective looked Neal over, from his suit to his anklet. He glanced at Peter, who cast a sidelong glare at Neal. He sat forward in the chair. "She's a nice young woman." His voice was firm. "I know there is such a thing as client confidentiality and normally I'm a stickler for it. But if she's missing, I'm talking. This thing might've put her in danger. I can't ignore that."

Peter nodded at his common sense attitude. "So, the emails?"

"They were actually trying to reach Davis. But he's a minor of course. And he doesn't have a direct email on their website portfolio like she does."

"She didn't tell him?"

Detective Travis shook his head. "She didn't want to upset him, or her parents, until she was sure it wasn't just a hoax. She has gotten some. Pranks, nasty emails, spam and such, who doesn't if they are on the 'net at all? But this was different." He flipped through the paper copies of the emails and pulled out one that was highlighted. "See this one? You should've burned with your Mom. Give back my property or I'll finish it."

"Wow." Neal's eyes widened. "No wonder she..." Peter's glare stopped him from commenting on the gun.

Travis glanced between them, concern on his face.

"What did you find?"

Travis sighed. "I didn't get a chance to tell her. I only found out this morning. Davis's birth father was released on parole and skipped."

"But how did he find him? That all happened in California, right?" Neal asked.

"There was a special piece on the winners of the art competition in a national magazine. Also the art is out on the internet. My guess is he stumbled over it by accident."

"But what does he want?" Peter mused. "Give back my property? What does he think Davis has?"

"I don't know. But I do know he and his Mom had no other family. She made arrangements for his adoption before she died. She did meet the Conroys once. Anything she owned was left to him. He was only a little kid at the time. Loved playing with art supplies. Still loved it after the accident blinded him."

"So he definitely wasn't born blind."

"Nope. I've only met him once, Amanda introduced me as a new friend. I've known people that've hardly stubbed a toe all their lives who complain all the time. And then you've got someone like him. He doesn't just have a gift for art. He's got a gift for joy."

"I know what you mean." Neal said.

Peter just looked puzzled glancing between them.

When Travis left, he sat at his desk, stared at the computer monitor for an instant and said, "so explain it to me?"

"What?"

"The gift for joy thing?"

Neal sat opposite and stared into space. Imagining the terrified kid in a fire and comparing him to the young artist. "I'm not sure I can describe it. He turned on the music, picked up the pencil like it was a conductors wand and just...painted with it. He couldn't see the paper. But it was beautiful." Neal eyes refocused on his, intent. "I'd never have guessed he'd been through so much. Even with his sister missing he's so at peace with everything, with his gifts. He's worried, but he's refusing to believe she won't be all right." He shook his head. "I'm not sure I can do it justice, what I saw in him. You just have to see it."

"Let's not let him down then. I'm going to get an APB out on his biological father."

"I think I'll call the Conroys." Neal said slowly. "I'll ask them about what Davis inherited someone might want."

Peter hesitated. "That'll scare them Neal."

"They need to know they are in danger don't they?"

Peter nodded slowly. "I'll see about getting a protection detail on them."

"Your not going to move them to a safe house?"

"I might."

* * *

"This is all of it." Davis waved his hands over the box. It was a large box, but not so large considering it was the record of his and his late mother's lives.

He and Neal laid the items on the conference room table. The boy's touch was reverent. He held up a sweater and breathed in the scent. His eyes closed. "Mommy was beautiful." The boy said. He frowned. "I do miss her. We used to ride bikes and take picnics."

Neal studied him, hesitating to broach the subject. But it was relevant to the case. "Do you mind my asking...what about your Dad?"

Davis sighed. "I didn't have a Dad. Not really. There's more to being a dad than...well, you know. When he wasn't working...at stuff Mommy didn't approve of...he was drunk."

"Did you know what he was into?"

Davis frowned. "Nope. I was too little. But I knew it involved hurting people. He came home with blood on him once and it wasn't his."

"I'm sorry."

"I try and look on the bright side. Mommy loved me and she made sure I had a new family. We had a chance to say good bye." The boy swallowed. "And even though I do miss seeing, I'm glad I remember the way she was before it happened. That's how I want to remember her."

Neal touched his shoulder lightly. "We'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else."

Davis bobbed his head. "It scares me thinking he might have Amanda. But I'm confused too. Why grab her? It's me he's after."

"Or something he thinks you have." Neal pointed out, studying the items on the table. "Amanda might've just seen him and he didn't want to take the chance she'd ID him before he found what he was looking for." Neal did not add the thought that prickled at the back of his brain. This man was a murderer. What if he'd killed Amanda?


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't even want to think it. Not for her or him or any of them." Neal said aloud to Peter after Davis and his family left to go to the safe house. They were carefully working through the items on the table. Neal had promised Davis to be careful with them and he'd meant it.

A jewelry box with only a few pieces of costume jewelry was there. A graduation ring, which was fairly valuable but worth more as an heirloom. Neal dismissed it. That alone was not worth all this trouble. A well worn journal with a tiny combination lock and a ribbon poking out the side. It still bore the faint smell of perfume on the fabric cover. A family bible, also cloth covered, gold edged pages with passages underlined and notes scrawled on the sides. Neal shook his head. A photo album featured pictures of Davis and his mother. Some were roughly cropped, he noticed, as if someone had been removed. His father, Neal assumed, though it was odd, given that Davis couldn't see the pictures. He looked at them closely.

Davis's birth mother's face was alight with happiness when she was with her son. In the shots that were cropped, she looked somewhat strained. He studied her posture, her dress, not expensive but clean and fashionable. He studied her and Davis. She was wearing a pendant in some. That wasn't among the heirlooms on the table. And Davis was holding... Neal picked up a magnifying glass and studied a spot in the boy's hand, the one curled around a stuffed Panda. It looked like a compass, tarnished but shiny with a chain.

He nudged Peter. "What about these?"

Peter looked closely. "A pendant and compass?"

Neal shrugged. "They aren't on the table."

"And that compass is no kid's toy." Peter mused. "Let me check the records."

He studied the records of the fire. "No compass..." He glanced up at Neal. "Could a compass be that valuable?"

"Depends on who owned it and what it was used for. The pendant would be."

"The pendant was busted up. It burned into her neck and they had to rip it apart to get it off her." Peter tapped the report.

Neal cringed at the mental image. "Right. Compass. Think he still has it?"

"One way to find out."

They visited the safe house.

Davis frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know." He said slowly. "It was Grandpa's. He gave it to my Mom when I was born, I did play with it." He paused. "I...think I had it after the fire..." His hands moved, fingers stroking an invisible shape. "Yes. I think I did. But it's been a long time since I've touched it. I thought it was in the box."

"I remember it too." John Conroy said slowly. "I remember seeing it on his nightstand right after he came to us. He slept with it for a while."

"Dad!" Davis poked him.

"Nothing to be ashamed of Son. We all need a little guide to help us out of our nightmares sometimes."

Neal looked at the man in bewilderment.

"You must think we're ridiculously sappy." Marie said.

"In case you wondering, no, we aren't like this all the time. We've gotten in some fights with our kids, oh yes we have! Right now though..." John Conroy gripped his son around the shoulders with a worried frown.

Davis grinned. "I used to skip school to do my art."

"Oh." Neal couldn't resist a slight smile.

"I hated being in a special school. Then I hated being in a regular one. I love the learning part. It's just they didn't teach what I was interested in."

"In other words, a typical teenager." Peter said. Neal stared at him. "Or so I've heard."

"I'm sure Peter Burke was a perfect boy scout." Neal said.

"I had my moments."

"Do tell?" Neal said, far too eagerly.

"So can you remember anything special about the compass? Give us any details?" Peter dodged, taking inspiration from Neal's own tactics.

Neal narrowed his eyes at him and mouthed "this isn't over."

"Yes it is." Peter mouthed back, as the Conroys considered.

Davis was still making motions with his hands. "Paper?"

Marie handed him pencil and paper. The boy frowned, staring unblinking into space. A rough image appeared on the paper as his hand moved.

Peter glanced at Neal, amazed. He couldn't draw a stick figure that good with his eyes working fine. The compass wasn't perfectly round, but the sketch included scratches on the inner cover that looked suspiciously like writing. "What's it say?"

"I don't remember. I hadn't learned to read well yet. I think Mommy told me but I've forgotten." The sixteen year old's voice was shy.

"We could go home and look for it." Marie said.

"No. Not if...someone might be lurking." John said. "How about I go with you, and just show you where I last saw it? You haven't been through Davis's room..."

"Okay. We'll send some agents."

* * *

"So no sign of it?" Neal looked up from where he was perched watching Jones poke at Amanda's laptop.

"Not a trace." Peter said. "They tore the house apart."

Neal's brows rose. "I doubt they'll appreciate that bit."

Peter sighed. "John Conroy was helping. Anything to find his daughter."

"There might be something about it in the missing emails." Jones said. "I'm running a recovery program now." He looked doubtful.

"She didn't give them all to Travis?"

"Not likely. She may not have known this guy was anything but an annoying spammer remember? She probably deleted at least a couple before they really spooked her."

"Trouble is, by that time she may have deleted or written any number of things. And the more often it happens, the less likely we'll recover the file."

"He's on his third one."

"File?"

"Recovery program."

"Credit for persistence, Jones."

"He offered to let Mozzie try."

Peter glared at Neal.

"What? He's good at it. And there's extra motivation in the competition."

Jones snorted. "He's not poking around in my recovery software. And I know he wouldn't want me poking in his."

"The idea was definitely horrify him." Neal pictured Mozzie's reaction. He'd take a hammer to his own laptop first. Knowing Mozzie though, he probably had data backed up all over the place, and all of it set to self destruct. He smiled at the thought.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

Diana walked up. "Guess who we identified as part of the work crew on the neighboring building?"  
"Jenkins?"

"Working in construction. And he hasn't been seen since the robbery."


	5. Chapter 5

Neal paced in his apartment. He glanced at his own easel and put the wine glass on the table. Davis had him baffled. The kid's dad killed his mother, tried to kill him, and left him blind. Yet Davis was the brightest and most positive artist he'd ever met. Maybe he took after his mother. But you'd think he'd have some emotional scars.

Neal slid into the chair, pouring more wine and twirling it in the glass. Whatever Davis had, he should bottle and sell it. Neal would pay good money. He wouldn't even steal it. He was pretty sure it wasn't something you could snatch.

Maybe it was his own hurt over his parents that colored his perceptions. His mom had checked out. His Dad...well, the facts about him turned his life upside down. He'd run, abandoned his dreams, his friends, his life. He sighed. It had been his life. A fairly happy one, in spite of everything. He'd had Ellen, even if he'd hurt over his Mom's failure to be there for him. He sighed and leaned forward. And when she told him the truth he just left. What if he'd handled that better? Stayed, graduated, at least just long enough to calm down and get the whole truth? He'd believed, he still believed that he needed to know the truth about his Dad, to know who he was.

Somehow, such knowledge didn't bother Davis at all. He knew who his Dad was and what he'd done. He knew who he was. And that was it. How did he do it?

Of course, there was no mystery for Davis. He did know what happened, more or less the whole story. He'd been there, young as he was, in the center. But Neal didn't really know about his Dad. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe his own Dad didn't really commit the crime. Ellen said he claimed he didn't. But then why had he later confessed? He shivered, remembering how close he'd come to shooting Fowler after Kate's death. Had something like that happened to his Dad? He knew how much he owed to both Peter and Mozzie for interfering.

Two knocks and the door swung open to reveal Mozzie. Neal looked up.

"Hey, you started on the wine without me."

"Hey, you actually knocked."

"Ha ha." Mozzie came the rest of the way in. "So, what's got you so distracted? I keep calling. Suits watching too close?"

"No. I've been busy." Neal sighed. "This kid is a genius, Moz. He doesn't deserve this."

"What? I've obviously missed something."

Neal held up an enlarged copy of one of the photos. "See the compass? It's our only idea on what this guy is after. He grabbed Amanda Conroy right out of the museum."

"Oh. That case!"

Neal stared at him.

"Hey, I've been busy. And except that disaster with Rice, and the time it was Peter, you don't usually get involved with kidnappings."

"You forgot the girl and the brothers with the eccentric guy's treasure hunt."

"Oh. I see your point. So this guy Samson Jenkins you asked me to check into a suspect?"

"Davis's biological father. He set the fire that ended up killing his mother and blinding him."

Mozzie's eyes blazed and his eyes narrowed. "Monster." Then he blinked as he sat down.

"What did you find?"

"He's got a record."

"I know that..."

"And he's got some major debts. He got the wrong guys mad at him in prison and hired protection. Now they want their money."

"And somehow he thinks Davis has something that he can use to pay them back?" Neal handed the photo to Mozzie. "We know from some emails that he was looking for something he thinks Davis has. The only thing we could find is what wasn't there. He had a photo album and this is the only thing he didn't get from his Mother – Neal tapped the compass picture.

"Not much to go on."

"No. But as Peter pointed out, it's not a kid's toy either, even though he has it. He says he had it after he was adopted but now they can't find it anywhere."

"Well, if his sister found out what the guy was after, do you think she tried to give it to him to get him to go away?"

"I hadn't thought of that." Neal leaned on one hand and glanced at the photo. "But that wouldn't explain the missing statue. One was fairly big."

"How did they haul out a big statue unnoticed? Could she have hidden it in the statue?"

Neal stared at him. "I suppose so. Would've taken more than one person to move it. But why grab her or the statue? He worked next door with the construction crew, he could've timed it so the noise would cover the grab."

"An accomplice. Maybe something came up and they had to rush."

"And one of them has a dog bite."

"Really?"

"If you see someone with a bite wound and trying to pay his medical bill with a dog tooth, he's our guy."

"Ouch. They let a dog in the museum?"

"Guide dog. Davis is blind, remember?"

"It's easy to forget when you see his work."

"You should see him while he's working."

Mozzie turned the photo for a better look. Neal opened a folder at his side and handed over the contents. "Hmm." Mozzie hummed. "Better, but not great. I'll do some checking. Maybe the compass leads to buried treasure."

Neal winced. "I just hope it leads to Amanda!"

* * *

"Look what I got." Jones grinned. "It was buried in her search history."

Peter leaned forward to peer at the laptop and exclaimed "Is that the compass?"

"Look here too. It was partly deleted..." A picture came up, or at least the top part of it did, the rest was just grey. Enough showed to confirm a compass.

Neal was on Jones other side. "That's the desk at her studio. I remember seeing that paint mark." He pointed at a yellow streak staining a spot.

"So it was taken recently."

"It's got a screw off top." Peter noted.

"It's a military compass." Jones said firmly. "World War One, I'd say."

"Definitely old. And there is writing...can you zoom in?" Neal leaned closer, crowding him.

"Yeah. A little elbow room please."

"Sorry."

"Always fly true...something..."

"And your fortune will be assured." Peter finished.

"Fortune...," Neal's eyes widened.

"Probably just an expression."

"And if it's not, or Jenkins thinks it's not?"

"Oh no. You think it leads to treasure, don't you." Peter did not like to think of the trouble the last major treasure find had caused.

"I thought you liked treasure hunting."

Peter sighed. "It's more fun when a life isn't on the line. And our last treasure hunt had some nasty repercussions."

"We need to find the compass to read the rest of it." Jones looked doubtful.

"We could try the museum again." Neal leaned back.

"We went over it with a fine tooth comb."

"We weren't looking for the compass."

"We need to find the girl, not the compass."

"But if we have the compass, we have what he wants. We may need it to get the girl."

"True."

* * *

Peter was browsing through the back area with the curator of the museum. That part was still an official crime scene. The museum proper was open for business. Neal strode to the Conroy's large sculptures and studied them thoughtfully. He pictured the blind boy feeling the clay, bringing it to life with the shapes in his mind. He pictured the missing sister, brush in hand, laughing as she painted the sea spray. He scanned every inch of the art slowly. His eyes locked onto a shadow in the wave, at the very bottom near the base. He glanced around. No-one was near the exhibit. Pulling a small flashlight out of his pocket he stepped over the cordon. Kneeling down he flashed the light in, turning it slowly. A hint of a gleam caught his eye. He carefully reached into the frozen wave. His hand touched metal.

"Hey! No touching" A security guard was on the other side of the room. Neal stepped back, waving with one hand and sliding the object into his pocket with the other. He waited until he was in the hall before he looked at it. It was the compass.

"...follow your heart, treasure within treasure" He read the missing phrase to himself. Beneath a heart. He slid his eyes shut, thinking. Heart. The old fabric cover of the family Bible had a heart. He had glanced at it but not looked too close. Was there a message in all that scribble on the sides?

Peter beside him. "Neal, the guard was complaining..." Peter started, he froze as Neal opened his hand. "Where?"

"Base of the statue. I think I know where the something is that Jenkin's is looking for." He frowned. "Not so sure what though. Another riddle, or the answer...we need to get back to the office."

* * *

Peter sat next to him as Neal flipped open the old Bible. He felt the fabric cover and studied how it was attached.

"Neal, you aren't going to rip apart that Bible are you?"

"No, but I hope it's where I think it is and not in all this scribble. There are so many notes in such hard to read handwriting it, would take ages to read it all. I need a knife."

"You said you weren't ripping!"

"I'm not ripping! This cover is sewn on. I'm trying to cut the stitches with minimum damage. I can do it and yes, I can fix it."

Peter sighed reluctantly and handed over a knife. "I hope you're right about this!"

Neal gently cut the stitches under the heart on the cover. He tilted the hole up to the light. "Mhmm." He cut more stitches until the whole side was open. Peter was cringing.

He slid two fingers in lightly and drew a paper out. His eyes widened and Peter gasped. "Bonds!"

Neal studied it closely. "Real ones too."

"Not for chump change either."

"And they are still good. This'll pay for college and keep him in art supplies for a very long time." Neal's eyes were bright. "No wonder Jenkins wants that compass.."

"Most likely he doesn't know they are in the Bible or he'd have gone straight for that."

"He knew the compass had a clue."

"But we're ahead of him."


	6. Chapter 6

Neal's phone rang. A quick look at the caller ID and he stepped aside to answer it.

"I have a friend who says he met a guy complaining that he'd hired on for a quick snatch and run for a silly family heirloom and ended up a babysitter." Mozzie said.

"You think it's the help that grabbed Amanda?"

"Apparently the guy was drinking and swore he wasn't watching her one more minute until he got paid what was promised. He hadn't signed on for that much trouble."

"Any idea where this guy is?"

Calvor's Bar is where he hangs out. He goes by the nickname AGA."

Neal frowned into space. "Odd nickname. What's it mean?"

"Anything Goes Anytime. I guess he might have exaggerated."

Neal strolled into the bar casually, dressed in a black jacket and jeans. The guy was bald, with a muscle shirt, mustache and a big tattoo on his arm. In spite of the crowd, Neal spotted him easily arguing with another man. Neal's eyes narrowed at the dark skinned fellow. The second man had muscles at least as big as AGA and a gun in his belt. "As his head turned, Neal murmured "Jenkins is here guys."

AGA shoved Jenkins aside, "I don't work for you anymore. You pay me. That's it."

Jenkins pulled something out of his pocket and slammed it into the other man. AGA gasped and collapsed onto a nearby pool table. Jenkins grabbed his wallet back and shoved through the crowd. AGA was holding his side and looking at his hand as Neal kept an eye on Jenkins. "Guys, I think he shanked his partner."

In the van, Peter looked at Jones, wincing. He had a bad feeling about this. "Don't do anything reckless." Peter murmured. Jones stared at him. "Yeah, I know he will," he admitted to the knowing look Jones was giving him.

Neal was between Jenkins and the door. Pretending he didn't see the man, he turned away and stepped so the man had to bump him as he went by. With a casual flick, he slid the GPS watch from his wrist into the man's pocket.

"I think he's following him." Jones noted staring at the GPS.

"I'm going after him." Peter stated, worry lines crowding his brow.

Jones gave him directions over the radio. Peter kept turning and looking, but he didn't see Neal in the crowd. Suddenly the younger man tapped his shoulder. Peter jumped.

"Jones said you were over there!" Peter waved his hand.

"I slipped my watch into Jenkins' pocket."

"Right after he shanked someone?"

Neal pointed. "I see him. Come on."

It was easy to keep him in site. The crowd wouldn't let Jenkins move fast.

"Great. Now...right after he stabbed someone?"

Neal stepped out after him. "If AGA was his only helper, then he might figure it's time to get rid of her. I figured we were out of time." He paused and added, "Hard to believe that this guy is any relation to Davis."

Peter sighed silently as they kept their quarry in view. One thing you couldn't call Neal was a coward. The street wasn't full, but there enough people to keep him from sticking out. Neal ambled past the building he turned into then looked back up, sidled up to the glass door and peered in. A shadow was disappearing up the steps. Ducking in Peter drew his gun and handed the radio to Neal, who murmured the building number into it. Slinking up the stairs, he listened carefully at the landing. Neal paused as the shadow did, watching as a door creaked open.

Neal slid by the wall and as the door started to slam, shoved his hat brim in the crack over the latch. The door stuck, unable to lock. A muffled cry sounded from within. Peter positioned himself by the door, followed by Jones, who appeared suddenly behind them. "FBI! Open up!" They slammed in at the curse from within.

They shot in, catching Jenkins with his hands half in the air, gun pointed in the general direction, but not quite at, the woman cuffed to a bed.

"Drop it!"

Jenkins was snarling in fury. But he dropped the gun, eyes darting to the girl.

"Don't even think about it." Peter swept in and cuffed him. Neal followed them in as soon as there was room, hurrying to the girl and yanking out the gag."

"How are you? Are you... seriously hurt?" His eyes tracked the bruises. She'd obviously been smacked around. Her wrists were red and bleeding from yanking on the cuffs.

Tears were in her eyes. "Davis! Is he okay?"

"He's fine." Peter said, studying the handcuffs. Neal pulled out a pick and started to work on the latches. Peter sighed but didn't comment.

"We found the compass. Is that what he was after?"

She nodded, gulping. "He said he'd hurt Davis if I didn't give it to him. But I wanted assurance if I gave it to him he'd leave him alone. He got mad and he grabbed me. He kept coming in and hitting...threatening me if I didn't tell him where it was. But I figured, if I did, he would kill me anyway...and I hoped since he had me, Davis would already be in protection..."

"You were right. Your family is safe."

"And Jenkins didn't get what he wanted either."

* * *

The family reunion was joyous and tearful. Davis was awed by what they found. "A treasure in Mom's Bible?"

"How long has it been in your family?"

"Oh, it was my Great Grandma's. The compass was Great Grandpas. Or Great Great." The boy frowned. "Something like that."

"So they put this aside for a rainy day."

"Make for one fine college education." Peter noted.

"And you won't have to worry about Jenkins coming back. He's going away for a long time."

Neal smiled at them. Davis came over. "Hey. Come over and do some art with us some time."  
"I'd like that." Neal hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How are you so...okay with all this. If I were in your place, I'd be pretty angry."

Davis shrugged. "I was for awhile. Then I realized..." his gaze shifted as if he was staring into space. "I didn't like how it made me feel all cramped inside. It hurt my art. So I just kind of cut him out. All I need to know is, I don't want to be someone who hurts someone. And it helps shape my art. It'll take a while to stop being mad about hurting Amanda though." He frowned. "I want no part of him. Maybe he was different once. But I'll never know."

"You should bottle that and sell it."

The boy grinned. "I do. In my art."

Neal watched as the boy retreated to his family, his own thoughts flitting to his own secret past. Peter came up and put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay? You look like you're miles away."

"Just...it was a strange case."

Peter glanced sideways. "Learn anything?"

"Like what?"

"You know what."

"No I don't."

"You don't have to be what your parents were. You take the best and leave the worst. You said it yourself, it's hard to believe Davis is related to Jenkins."

"Mm. It would help if I was sure what the best and worse in my family was."

"If you know your own best and worse, you can choose between them."

"Maybe. I hope so."

"I know so." Peter paused. "In spite of your hare brained schemes, you can have the life you want Neal."

"Hare brained?" Neal gave him an indignant look, then looked away. At last, Neal glanced at him uncertainly. "Even if the old one keeps chasing after you and trying to catch up?"

Peter studied him. "If you want it bad enough. And if you ever figure out you really don't have to do it alone."

"I know that."

"You tend to go off on your own."

"What, a guy can't need a little privacy now and then?"

"Sure, when he's not getting into mischief."

"Mischief?" Neal stared. "Really? Mischief? Me?"


End file.
